


pretend you love me

by orphan_account



Series: this is the end [25]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Episode: s05e04 The End, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Making Out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-02-09
Packaged: 2018-03-11 06:24:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3317465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes it's easier to pretend. Sometimes it's harder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	pretend you love me

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry I haven't updated this series in so long D:  
> I'm kinda loosing steam with end!verse fics, because I feel like I've written myself into a hole where al of these fics are identical. So if you ever have an idea for a situation/scenario, feel free to send them my way on tumblr (adamprrsh) :)

His request is quiet – it always is. Sometimes it’s murmured with his teeth against your throat, sometimes it’s said casually, like a throw-away comment about the weather, before he takes another drag from the clove cigarette between his fingers.

Tonight, you’ve sat down on the bed and he’s put his head in your lap. You move to push him off, or at least move him, when he speaks. It’s a request you’re not unfamiliar with.

“Pretend you love me.”

So you don’t push him off – instead, you lay a hand in his hair and push your fingers through gently like you haven’t almost forgotten how. His hair isn’t as soft as it once was but it’s still just as thick. Longer now, too, you notice as you push it off his forehead. His eyes are closed and he’s smiling.

You lean down a press a kiss against his temple. “I love you,” you tell him flatly. The words carry no emotion, no underlying compassion, except for the ache of _what might have been_ and _what once was_.

He cracks and eye open to look at you. “Don’t say it; you never said it when you meant it, don’t start now.”

“Are you sure?” you ask, eyebrows pulling together. “Not once?”

He shakes his head. “Not once.”

“Huh.” The word comes out distracted, like you don’t even notice it leaving your lips. You definitely don’t notice when he sits up and seats himself firmly in your lap, putting his hands on your shoulders and then moving them to your face to force you to look at him. That’s when you notice.

“It’s alright,” he murmurs, looking at your lips and not your eyes. “It’s alright.” He kisses you like a drowning man looking for air and you kiss him back, full stop. Your side is mechanical, passionate but unemotional. He frowns against your lips. “Pretend. For me,” he pleads.

You grasp his hips firmly and you push back, kissing him hard. You kiss him like a house on fire and you feel him grin against your mouth, grateful to be burned by you. There was a time when that would have made you stop kissing him, made you pull away and ask him what he was thinking.

Frankly, you don’t care anymore, so you just keep kissing him because that’s what he wants and you can’t say that you aren’t enjoying it.

“Wanna move this to the bed?” you ask, eyes closed and barely a breath of space between your mouths.

“We’re on the bed,” he reminds you, and then he kisses you again and pushes your shoulders down so you’re on your back and he’s still straddling your hips. “I love you,” he says. He doesn’t mean it so you don’t respond.

You push up against him, trying to get more contact with his lithe body. You pretend you can’t taste the tears on his face as you kiss him.

When you open your mouth, you breath into his lungs and listen to his gasp as he shudders against you.

“I love you,” he says. He repeats it again and again, like a prayer. Like it’s the only thing that matters anymore. You don’t respond, just keep your eyes shut and kiss him, deeper and deeper until his shaking stops and he’s just whispering your name over and over like it’s a curse word, like it’s a Holy thing.

“Thank you,” he whispers as he moves away from you, switching from hot to cold so quickly it feels like whiplash to you. He is no longer the man you loved, but the man you’ve come to know and resent in ways you can only feel towards people who’ve loved you and been loved by you.

“Anytime.” You mean to sound nonchalant, like you really mean it, but the single word comes out strangled and hoarse, betraying you. You think he notices but you don’t turn your head to look at him. You want to tell him that every time he kisses you, you feel another piece of your heart break, you feel another apocalypse shudder through your bones. Electricity, celestial intent, whatever.

You don’t tell him that you’d like to kiss him again because this time it might finally kill you.


End file.
